


Greyhound

by pickleplum



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickleplum/pseuds/pickleplum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The A/C in the Shatterdome fails and Newt sees something he isn't expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greyhound

"Dude, **what** are you **wearing**?" Newt yelps when his fellow scientist finally opens the door after a solid two minutes of pounding.

"Exactly what I appear to be, Newton." Hermann appears to be wearing a pair of striped cotton pajama bottoms and an honest-to-god baggy t-shirt.

 **Hermann** is **wearing** a **t-shirt**.

"Dude … you have **arms**! Human arms!"

Hermann rolls his eyes. "Is there a reason you're disturbing me?" he asks, slumping against the doorframe.

"Uh … yeah … right. **Right**." Newt shakes his head violently and continues. "The A/C is out and I wanted to make sure you hadn't liquified under all of your layers."

"I'm completely fine. I **was** resting in front of my personal fan," Hermann replies as he runs his fingers through his bedhead succeeding only in further mussing it.

"Oh. Okay," Newt stammers. "I'll leave you to it, then, unless you want me to bring you something cold from the mess hall? A popsicle, maybe?"

"No, thank you. Good evening, Newton." Hermann steps backward into his room and starts pushing the door closed.

Newt jams his foot in the shrinking gap. "I have to say this, dude. I have to. You look like this greyhound my neighbors adopted off the racetrack when I was a kid. You work out with the Rangers when I'm not looking or something? I mean, you're not stacked like the soldiers, but you're, uh … wiry. You must be **seriously** strong."

Hermann blinks as a blush starts at his cheeks and quickly reaches the tips of his ears. "I believe the heat is getting to you. Good evening," he says definitively and applies his muscles to closing the door, nearly slamming it on Newt's booted foot.

" **Good evening to you** , **too**!" Newt yells through the steel. He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck. "If his leg was okay, he could totally take me in a fight," he mumbles. "As is, it'd probably be close. Dude's about as frail as piano wire."

He turns and strolls toward the mess in search of iced tea and popsicles. "And, a t-shirt? A band t-shirt? What the **hell**?"

**Author's Note:**

> The image of bedheaded, be-t-shirted Hermann wouldn't leave my head.
> 
> Thanks to artificiallifecreator for being my beta, despite being sunburned and sleep-deprived.


End file.
